


Holy Water

by AgathaCrispy



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgathaCrispy/pseuds/AgathaCrispy
Summary: Ryder and Reyes enjoy a date at the hot springs. Schmoopy PDA ensues.





	Holy Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snappleducated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snappleducated/gifts).



> I had the intention of researching hot springs, and then I just ended up watching a YouTube of funny Korean girls being adorable bone-heads at a Japanese resort. 
> 
> Also, title credit (and dedication) go to snappleducated for being a precious pizza roll. Thanks always, you rascal

 

_“This is an armor-free meeting,”_ is all the message says.

The first time Ryder’s boots stomp through the Badlands she cannot imagine the possibility of the hot springs stabilizing to safe, even holistic, temperatures. Now she stomps on the Nomad’s accelerator, narrowly decimating the local flora and fauna populations through the valley to Reyes’ marked coordinates by Sulphur Springs. If he is this confident conditions are safe enough for her to romp around Kadara like a carefree interstellar princess, surely she can afford to roll down the Nomad’s newly installed sun-roof. The breeze whips her hair. She feels magnetic, like Govorkam’s sun is tracking Ryder herself.

His directions take her off-road, along a mountain pass, through a cave, and into a small clearing curtained in mist. As she parks, the light cuts through the clouds to reveal her smuggler in an ironic, angelic glow, shirtless and relaxing in the spring. An ice bucket sits behind him on a ledge almost perfectly eroded as a bar. Ryder hops out of the vehicle, restraining a grin that gives away all her excitement. He sees. He winks.

“Mighty foolish of you,” she drawls, jutting a hip out. “A notorious, powerful crime lord, leaving yourself vulnerable like this, sans armor, sans gun.”

“Yes,” Reyes agrees. “And I’m naked down here.”

She nearly has a nose bleed.

“Get over here before you have an aneurysm.”

Ryder huffs and suspiciously eyes his neatly folded pile of clothes.

“You beat me here on purpose,” she says, cross, folding her arms to hide the rising flush creeping up her chest. Defiant, flirtatious, and completely irresistible to him.

“If that’s your concern, I won’t peek.” He grins, sinking into the bubbling water.

“Like you wouldn't peek anyway, perv.” As much as Ryder wants to see the look on his face, she doesn’t trust herself not to biotic charge into the spring and straight up ravage him. Then she’d really be in hot water for sexing the Charlatan to death.

Either all of Kadara suddenly hushes for Ryder or she is more self-conscious than she has ever been with former hookups. She drops her jacket, kicks her boots away. When she peels her shirt off, she meets his gaze. His face lights up. He looks at her like she is a present to be unwrapped.

“Keep those hands where I can see ‘em,” she orders. Reyes raises in surrender.

“If you take this long to get your clothes off, the champagne will get warm,” he complains, itching to get closer. The afternoon sun burns harder to prove his point.

“I will undress as slowly as I want, and you will like it.” She takes her gloves off with her teeth, suspecting it isn't nearly as sexy as when he does it. His expression tells her she’s wrong.

“Are you treating me to a show?”

“Make yourself useful and pop that bottle.” She’s grinning, embarrassment melting into the mist. By her estimates, Reyes’ megawatt smile could probably supply enough power to Kadara for a year.

“So what's the occasion?” she tries to ask nonchalantly, shimmying her pants down.

“Do I need one to have you all to myself?” His gaze follows down her waist, her hips, thighs. Ryder doesn't regret her rapid-fire choice in Very Tiny Underwear before fleeing the Tempest for her date.

“Insert joke about you undressing me with your eyes,” she teases. He looks up in time to see her unclasp her bra. He stares.

The cork pops, foam gushing and dribbling over his forearm. Ryder breaks into silver laughter, a snort at the end that only endears her to him. He wants to build a home between the crinkles of her eyes and her shy grin while sliding down the final article of clothing. She stands before him like Venus emerging from the sea. His smile becomes more beautific. She needs to kiss him.

He holds his hand out for her. She takes it, smiles when he squeezes, and gingerly steps in. The temperature is perfect. She spies the smallest sliver of disappointment in his eyes when the bubbles rise above her breasts. “One peek wasn't enough?”

He groans, looks at her again, and shakes his head. “Never.” He goes to grab the glasses from the bucket when she stops him.

“No need. We both know I'm not that classy,” and she tips the bottle like she’s back at school.

“We both know how I feel about spilled drinks,” he reminds, edging closer. Ryder absently notes the water getting hotter.

“Oh? Was this bottle very rare?” She asks but doesn't wait for an answer before returning the bottle to her lips.

“If I say yes, would you enjoy yourself more?”

She drinks thoughtfully and pulls the bottle away, messily splashing wine down her chin, her collarbone. She looks at him, mischievous and decadent. He sighs, takes her chin. She’s effervescent.

“Such a mess. I can't take you anywhere.” He kisses her before she can retort. The champagne is barely back on terra firma before their arms are wrapped around each other. They could melt into the hot spring, and he still wouldn’t be able to get enough of her. When they break, Reyes isn’t confident whether it’s for air or to continue her rebuttal.

“False. You love taking me everywhere.”

He says nothing but cups her face and kisses her temples. She lets herself become soft.

“I feel like I've just received your blessing,” she murmurs. “Or _something_.”

He strokes her cheek. “And how long,” he begins, tentative. “...has it been since your last confession?” He sees her eyebrows raise, her smile grow.

“Um, twenty-two years.”

They sit, her legs over his. She tries very hard not to think too much what’s right below the bubbles. Did he just--

“Oh, is this how it goes?” she asks innocently. “Funny, it was just like this when Christmas Tate was asking me what I wanted for--”

“I can call him right now and ask if he’d like to join us out here,” Reyes offers and moves like he’s going to dump her out of his lap and ring up Ditaeon. Ryder laughs sarcastically and claws her arms around his neck.

“I once punched a boy I liked in primary school.”

“Feisty. I like it. How did that turn out for you?”

“He cried, I got sent home, and Scott got to go to the class pizza party. I'm still more mad about the pizza.”

“My poor girl.”

She looks up at him. “Say that again. But without the middle part.”

“My girl,” he repeats easily, gently tugs her hair.

_"Cool_ ,” she says, as casual as she can muster. She leans back. For a moment, they simply are. Their soundscape is the water lapping, the breeze, and his content hum.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

She considers him. She’s so young, terrible at masking her emotions, especially with him. He can pinpoint the second her eyes darken, and she’s less precious about the water line and modesty.

“If you give me a couple minutes I’ll have something else for you,” and she slowly drags her hand down his chest into the green hot spring depths.

 

* * *

 

  
Later, in her room on the Tempest, she replays in her head how his breath hitched when her hand found him.


End file.
